


Bad Habit

by Cof2e2



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Claudia Stilinski Feels, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek is a Good Alpha, Drunk Stiles, Gen, Run-On Sentences, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles is Part of the Pack, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cof2e2/pseuds/Cof2e2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff is working and Scott forgets what day it is, so for the first time Stiles finds himself alone on anniversary of his mom's death. So is it really any surprise that he ends up getting drunk in the woods? Not really. The appearance of Derek-freaking-Hale in said woods on the other hand, that's a bit of a shock. Even more shocking is that Derek sticks around and Stiles can't figure out why, because this is the guy that views him as the annoying, fragile, human sidekick. So why does he suddenly seem to almost give a crap?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Habit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to this site so apologies if I've made any mistakes in my posting.  
> This story is intended as a Derek and Stiles developing friendship, but it could be read as pre-slash if you so choose. It takes place early in season 2 but isn't exactly canon compliant because for the purposes of this story Derek and Scott's packs are on better terms than they are at that point in the show, and have already pretty much become one pack. It's not that pertinent to the story but since I tend to stick closely to canon when I write I usually like to point out when I diverge.  
> Anyways... hope you enjoy.  
> ~cof2e2

Bad Habit  
Stiles doesn’t want to blame Scott for forgetting what day it is. He has a girlfriend now and Stiles can’t be angry that she occupies his every waking thought. If he had a girlfriend he would probably forget things too.  
That’s a lie. Stiles never forgets anything. Even though he often wishes he could.  
But still, he can’t blame his best friend for being in love. And he can’t blame his dad for picking up a double shift, leaving him to fend for himself. The Sherriff obviously needs a distraction and work provides that. Stiles needs a distraction too, but all attempts to focus on something fail and Stiles doubts his attention span is short for the usual reasons. It’s just that he hates this day.  
He had gone to the graveyard after a miserable day at school so he leave her flowers, and had then made his way home. Finding the house empty and quiet is sometimes pleasant because it gives him a sense of peace that’s often hard for him to find with his scattered and racing thoughts. And sometimes when he’s alone in the house he can feel his mother’s presence. If he stands in the kitchen long enough he can just about hear her laughter echoing like it so often did when she sat at the table with him, helping him with his homework or playing a game with him or during her many failed attempts to teach Stiles how to cook something. Stiles was always awful about cooking, there were just too many different steps and too many things to think about at once and he couldn’t help it that his head was always already full and he couldn’t focus on completing the task at hand.  
Starting something was easy, but actually finishing was impossible in those days. Five minutes after starting a job he would get distracted and forget all about what he was supposed to be doing. Who cared about setting the table when there was a rather interesting doorknob that he wanted to look at and figure out the mechanics of, because how exactly does a doorknob work anyway? Stiles had figured it out, but not until he had found a screwdriver and dismantled every doorknob in the house, much to the chagrin of his parents. Of course he knew how to put them back together by that point but he wasn’t able to sit down and do it because he was already on to his next projects by then (reorganizing the books in the family room by publication date followed by opening up the VCR to see what was inside).  
At seven years old he had just started taking Adderall and it had taken a while to work the dose out and even after it was, the medicine didn’t fix his ADHD, only made it more tolerable. But his mother was always patient and willing to work with him. She taught him to cook even though he was bad at it, because it gave him something to do and it could sometimes calm his restless mind, even if it was only for a few minutes at a time. And she taught him because he enjoyed it and it was something they could do together. She never got angry, even when they ended up covered in eggs or flour or had to throw out that batch of cookies because he put in a few cups of salt instead of sugar or they had to spend an hour airing the smoke out of the house because yes, he forgot that he was supposed to turn the heat down on that burner and it may have slipped his mind that his was supposed to stir what was in that pan. He would apologize sheepishly for his blunders and she would laugh as they cleaned up whatever mess he had made that time and her laughter made him smile because she wasn’t laughing at him, she was just happy. And she would tell him it didn’t bother her because they were doing it together and there was nowhere else she would rather be.  
She understood her son in a way that no one else seemed to. She understood that when he was difficult in class it wasn’t because he was trying to be. She understood that all the questions he asked were out of curiosity, not petulance as many of his teachers thought. She understood that his inability to sit still and stop fidgeting was not the same as a flat out refusal to cooperate. She understood that no matter how frustrated his teachers became with him he was always more frustrated with himself because he wanted so badly to be like other kids his age but his brain just worked so much faster than theirs.  
She always knew exactly what Stiles had needed from her. She knew when he needed encouragement to help him finish a task and she could always tell the exact moment when Stiles needed her to back off and let him do something else for a bit to decompress. She knew when he needed her to hug him and when she needed to give him space because sometimes touch was just uncomfortable to him and made his skin feel like it was itching and burning. She knew exactly the way he needed her to hold him while he was crying at night because he was so tired and wanted to sleep but his over-active mind wouldn’t allow it.  
Even in her last year at home when she was starting to get sick but was still able to function she was always there for Stiles in exactly the way he needed. Even when she lay in the hospital those last few months and Stiles would come to visit her every day after school she was the voice of reason that was able to sooth his troubled mind in a way no one else ever could.  
But then her lucid moments slowly started to become fewer and fewer and there were days that he came when she would ask who he was or tell him he reminded her of her little boy, except her child was younger. Eventually he stopped trying to remind her that he was her son and just contented himself with being near her, because even when she thought she didn’t know him she still somehow understood exactly what he was thinking and how he was feeling.  
And then she died and Stiles feels that no one has really understood him since. True, Scott tolerates his antics and is often amused by them, but even after all these years of being friends he didn’t really understand that Stiles legitimately could not control his own actions sometimes. His father tried to understand and was far more patient than anyone else but he still didn’t understand why his son did the things he did. Stiles couldn’t really fault him for that because he often didn’t know why either.  
Years later it is pointed out by virtually everyone he shares memories about his mom with that she couldn’t possibly be as perfect as he makes her out to be. That time and love have erased her faults from his memory and she was human and she had flaws and he knows the latter is true, because yes, she made mistakes like everyone else. But that still never makes her anything short of perfect in her son’s eyes  
Even eight years after her death Stiles still goes to his mother’s grave almost every day and tells her what had happened to him in the 24 hours since his last visit. He often asks her for advice which she never provides, but he likes to imagine what her response would be. Because she always knew exactly the right thing to say and some days he wants to hear her voice telling him what to do so badly that his chest aches. He tells her things he’s afraid to tell his father. He tells her about how Harris hates him and how Jackson is a total douchebag. He tells her about how he likes girls but sometimes he likes boys too, and he knows that she doesn’t care about that. He tells her how he worries about dad and how he’s trying to make sure he stays healthy and safe, but it isn’t an easy job since her husband isn’t always cooperative. He tells her how he can’t sleep and that he misses the way she was able to get him to settle down with just her voice and gentle touches. He tells her about the werewolves. He knows that she believes him. When he speaks to her at her grave he always feels like she can hear him, the same way he feels her presence in his house. And it makes him miss her but it also makes him feel less alone.  
But today is always a bad day. He goes to her grave and leaves her the flowers and tries to tell her about his day but the words sound flat and he just feels like he’s speaking to a hunk of granite with her name and some numbers on it. And he comes home and the house is empty and quiet and he doesn’t feel like she’s there. He goes to his father’s room and opens her closet where all her clothes are still on the hangers. And even that feels empty because usually he can catch a whiff of her perfume when he opens that door but today he can’t and he knows that it’s never really there at all, that the smell of her faded from this house years ago and when he smells her perfume it’s in his head. He grabs the oversized pink robe that hangs on a hook inside the closet, the one she wore at home but had never been washed after she went to the hospital, and he pressed his face into it, inhaling deeply but all he can smell is the faint scent of dust and mothballs.  
Stiles swallows hard, trying not to cry, because he just wanted some piece of his mother, something to make him feel like she’s not gone, but he can’t find it. He replaces the robe and closes the door so his father will never know he was there. He makes his way to the kitchen and stands there for several minutes, trying to imagine the sound of her laughter but he can’t and when he thinks of her all he can see is how she was those last few days, frail and confused and rambling nonsense.  
Stiles feels a sudden urge to either sob or start breaking things because he’s just so angry that she’s gone. He does neither, instead he makes his way to the cabinet where John Stilinski keeps his liquor. Because his father has taught him a lot of things and one piece of wisdom that he never meant to impart to his son was that drinking can make your problems go away, at least for a little while.  
In the years following his mother’s death Stiles had watched his father drink more and more and though he was never violent or hurtful it was terrifying for Stiles to watch his father slipping away. John eventually got to the point that if he wasn’t working or sleeping then he was drinking. For years Stiles got into the habit of making sure his father ate dinner and cleaning up after him after John had passed out on the couch. He would always put away the liquor bottle and cover his with a blanket and he never failed to leave a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the table next to the unconscious older man. Then he would go up to his room and cry and promise his mother that he would keep looking out for his dad and hope that she heard him because she had to be as worried as he was.  
And for four years after his mother’s death Stiles took care of his father and no one took care of Stiles. But Stiles was Stiles and he loved the man with all his heart and never blamed his father or accused him of neglect, because he knew how much he was suffering even if he didn’t know what else to do to help  
When Stiles was twelve, only a few weeks after he had become friends with Scott, John had forgotten to pick up Stiles from the McCall house because he had fallen asleep after having a few drinks too many. Stiles had started sobbing when his father was two hours late and wouldn’t answer his phone. Melissa had drove him home as he tried unsuccessfully not to cry in the front seat next to her, unable to put into words how scared he was that something had happened to his father.  
She had gone with him into the house and when Stiles found his father passed out on the couch he had sagged in relief and for some reason he didn’t understand started to cry harder. Melissa hugged him and he had admitted to her between choked sobs that when he hadn’t come to pick him up he had thought his dad had died too. After he let go of her she watched as he went through his ritual of picking up and covering John with the blanket before leaving water and painkillers for him. She asked if this happened a lot. Stiles had shrugged, uneasy with the way her eyes and mouth had tightened. She had sighed and gave Stiles another hug then left a note on the coffee table for John to read when he woke up, letting him know that Stiles would be spending the night at her place.  
She had brought him with her and he had eaten dinner with her and Rafe and Scott. It was the first time in months he had dinner that didn’t include either cereal or a microwaved frozen dinner he had made for himself, and it made him want to start crying again because that was what is was like at his home before his mom had died and it really was nice to not be the one who had to take care of everything for once. But when Scott’s father started to ask questions about his dad’s drinking he had become angry. Melissa had told her husband to stop but he didn’t, and when the questions became accusatory Stiles had snapped, yelling at him to mind his own damn business and leave his father alone because it wasn’t John’s fault because he was still grieving and what did he expect from someone who had lost the love of his life? The yelling was short lived and he had quickly apologized to Rafe and the whole family for the disruption, saying he was a little off because he had forgotten to take his second dose of Adderall that day, but he never trusted the man again. And Melissa had learned never to say anything negative about the Sherriff in Stiles’ presence.  
She had dropped Stiles off at home the next morning and John was still sleeping on the couch. Stiles had taken the letter Melissa had left and ripped it up, not wanting his father to see it and feel embarrassed. When his father asked him later he said that he had been home all night.  
Two days later Stiles approached his father when he got home from work. His father had smiled and ruffled Stiles’ short hair then headed for his bottle of Jack. Stiles had been afraid of hurting his father but he couldn’t stop himself from blurting “Please don’t,” when the then-deputy had started to pour himself a glass. John had stopped and looked at Stiles in confusion. “Don’t what?” he had asked. Stiles hadn’t answered, but stared at the glass in his father’s hand. After a moment he had whispered “It feels like I’m losing you too.” John had looked at his son as if he had been slapped and with no hesitation he dumped the glass into the sink followed by the whole bottle. He had hugged his son and told him he was sorry over and over.  
John still drinks a few times a week, but not like he used to. He never lets himself have more than two drinks a day. Stiles used to think that his father drank because of the stress of having a hyperactive son to care for on his own but years later Stiles realized the reason he used to drink heavily is because it was the only thing that would numb him from the pain of losing his wife.  
And today Stiles wants so badly to be numb. He takes a half full bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and brings it with him to his Jeep then heads for the preserve.  
Stiles has gone there to drink before, but always with Scott. He thinks about calling Scott but he knows he is with Allison and it’s rare for him to be able to get time alone with her because her father forbid them from seeing each other. Stiles doesn’t want to ruin Scott’s good time with his own sour mood so he pushes aside thoughts of calling, even though he really doesn’t want to be alone.  
He parks his Jeep and wanders onto the preserve, taking occasional drinks from the bottle as he searches for a good spot to sit and drink himself into oblivion, just like he learned from his father. He chooses a large flat surfaced rock by the stream as a place to park himself. It’s not visible from the path and he thinks it will offer enough privacy for him to get drunk without someone interfering.  
An hour of drinking and his thoughts are less overwhelming even if his stomach is a little unsettled. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast and the hard liquor is hitting him hard. But that’s good. That’s what he wanted.  
It’s too early to really be dark, but the clouds have rolled in and the whole forest is a bleak shade of grey as a result. Stiles doesn’t mind though, because it matches his mood. And when the first raindrops start to fall he welcomes them because they feel soothing and the soft patter of water hitting the leaves and rocks around him is enough to make him tune out everything else. The whisky is warming his belly so he doesn’t even feel cold. So he sits there and continues to drink and listen to the rain and tries not to think.  
Another hour passes and the rain is falling more heavily but it’s still relaxing and he laughs, though he’s not sure why. He thinks about trying to talk to his mom again, wondering if this time it will feel like she is listening, but he decides against it because he doesn’t want her to know that he has been drinking. Then he laughs again because he is hiding the fact that he is drinking from his dead mother. He continues laughing because he realizes that with how odd his life is that’s not even that weird of a thing to think. There are real live werewolves and lizard monsters in the world, so why wouldn’t it be possible that a dead person could hear him speaking?  
He’s still laughing when he realized that a dark figure has approached and he’s too drunk to be alarmed by the sudden appearance of another person. It takes him a few seconds before he’s able to tell that it’s Derek-freaking-Hale standing there watching him laugh at nothing and that in itself causes another fit of giggles. Because even if he has kind of started to like Derek he’s usually a little scared of him too, but he’s not scared now, just amused and Derek is just standing there with his arms crossed and his normally spiked hair is flat against his head, wet with rain and he looks annoyed by the fact that Stiles isn’t currently finding him intimidating, but Stiles can’t make himself afraid because Derek looks like a wet dog.  
“Sourwolf!” Stiles greets when he is finally able to get his laughter under control. Derek approaches in long strides and stops right next to Stiles, normally too close for comfort but his lack of respect for personal space is not bothering Stiles today. He seems surprised when Stiles doesn’t flinch back like usual. He stands there, arms folded across his chest, seeming to wait for something, though Stiles has no idea what. After too many seconds pass in silence Stiles offers the bottle to Derek. “Wanna drink?” Because maybe werewolves can’t get drunk and maybe they’re not friends, but it would just be rude not to offer.  
Derek doesn’t move to take the bottle so Stiles takes another drink himself then waits because he doesn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with mindless chatter like he normally does. If Derek wants something he’ll say it eventually and if he doesn’t then Stiles figures he’ll just leave.  
“What are you doing out here?” Derek finally asks, his voice low and growly and Stiles would usually be running for the hills now but it suddenly occurs to him for the first time that Derek’s not really that scary, that he does what he does with the purpose of intimidating, not out of any real desire to hurt anyone. It makes Stiles a little sad because if he’s right about that then Derek probably is the way he is to keep people from getting close. Which makes sense because the guy lost his entire family, so of course he would be afraid to let people get close to him. Stiles realizes he must have been thinking too long, because Derek repeats the question.  
“Well, I’m here to drink. The fact that I had to tell you that makes me doubt your supposedly keen observational skills,” Stiles responds. He wonders if Derek will get annoyed and leave but finds himself hoping he doesn’t. The older man may hate him but Stiles likes him alright now, at least better than he used to, and his mood is better now than it was but he still doesn’t really want to be alone. Derek doesn’t leave, just continues glaring. “Hey, I’m not on your property this time!” Stiles waves the bottle as he speaks and a bit sloshes onto his jeans. He glances at it, then shrugs because it’s raining and that will pretty much take care of washing it out.  
“Where’s Scott?” Derek still glares.  
“If you keep glowering like you’re sucking on a lemon your face is gonna get stuck like that.” Whoops, Stiles hadn’t meant to say that out loud and he expects Derek to give him a shove or a smack to the back of the head like he so often has in the past, but Derek doesn’t even seem to register the comment, just waits, and oh yeah, Derek wants him to answer a question. “Scott. Yeah, Scotty is no doubt out making sweet love to his girlfriend. The Romeo and Juliet thing is getting a little old, but whatever, can’t fight true love I guess. No, wait, they’re not Romeo and Juliet. Well, in the aspect that their families are enemies and they’re still in love. But their story isn’t going to end with two suicides. They should get a happily ever after, don’t you think?” Stiles is rambling but that’s okay. Derek wouldn’t expect any less and it’s not like there’s anything he could do to lower Derek’s opinion of him. To Derek he will always be the annoying human sidekick, and to be fair that’s actually pretty accurate, so Stiles figures he doesn’t really have the right to complain.  
“So you’re out in the woods when it’s almost dark, drunk, by yourself, when there’s a creature out there killing people?” Derek looks at him like he’s stupid which annoys Stiles, because maybe he is the fragile, annoying, human sidekick, but he’s not dumb.  
“Don’t give me that look like I’m an idiot. I’m smart. It’s one of my only good qualities; you’re not allowed to take that away.” Now Stiles is the one glaring, but it fades when he realizes why Derek’s angry with him. “Sourwolf, was that comment made out of concern for me?” A slow smile stretches across his face. “You don’t want me getting killed by Beacon Hills’ latest monster!”  
Derek rolls his eyes and he looks annoyed, but he’s not glaring any more.  
Stiles laughs because Derek isn’t denying it. “Derek Hale gives a crap whether I live or not!” He feels another uncontrollable burst of laughter building in his chest, but there is something dark in Derek’s eyes and that look shuts down the urge.  
Derek says nothing, but that look makes it certain that Stiles is not to question whether or not the werewolf cares about his life. Derek is Derek so he can’t just come out and admit that he gives a shit, but Stiles realizes that yeah, he probably does care. And Stiles feels like he has put together a better understanding of Derek in the last five minutes than he has been able to in the last several months.  
“You don’t really let people know you, do you?” Stiles blurts out and damn it, he didn’t mean to say that either. Derek’s patience for Stiles’ word vomit is going to run out soon and he’s going to end up with a few bruises that won’t heal for weeks because he’s not a freaking werewolf. “Sorry,” Stiles says before Derek can respond and to his surprise Derek it still not lashing out at him, even if he is back to looking like he’s sucking on a lemon. Stiles takes another drink just to have something to occupy his hands and mouth.  
They are quiet for a few minutes, but it’s a comfortable silence. Derek moves to sit next to Stiles on the rock, leaving a few feet of space between them. Stiles offers him the bottle of Jack again, and this times Derek takes it and takes a long swallow, then hands it back. He still doesn’t leave and Stiles wonders why. He gets that Derek would apparently rather have him alive than dead, but that doesn’t make them friends. The rain is coming harder now and Stiles has to wipe the water out of his eyes “Why are you here?” Stiles finally asks.  
Derek glances at him, “Because I was in the woods and I heard you laughing like a crazy person.”  
Stiles doesn’t let himself be offended at that because Derek had no way of knowing that his mother was technically a ‘crazy person.’ “Yeah, werewolf super senses, got that,” Stiles waves his hand dismissively, this time he remembers to gesture with his free hand rather than the one holding the bottle. “What are you doing sitting here? With me?”  
“You can’t defend yourself from the creature if it attacks you,” Derek responds as if it’s obvious.  
“But you hate me. I’m just the annoying human sidekick.”  
Derek makes a soft huffing sound that’s either a laugh or a sigh. Maybe both. “You are annoying and human,” Derek allows as he takes the bottle from Stiles’ hand and drinks again, though it wasn’t offered.  
It takes a second for Stiles to realize that Derek doesn’t confirm that he hates him, meaning… Maybe Derek doesn’t despise him as much as he thought. Stiles smiles again because this is the closest Derek has ever come to giving him a compliment. Stiles is able to keep himself from blurting something inappropriate this time, though it’s a struggle. He hopes Derek appreciates the effort.  
Derek passes the bottle back and Stiles takes a small sip. The bottle is almost gone and he wonders how he’ll explain that to his dad, but he figures that’s something he can put off worrying about until tomorrow.  
“Why are you out in the woods at night in the rain getting drunk?” Derek asks, pulling Stiles out of his thoughts, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s putting an effort into making it sound like he doesn’t care.  
Stiles slaps a grin on his face, though he thinks it probably looks forced and maybe a little manic. “It’s a celebration!” He raises the bottle as if giving a toast. “Anniversary celebration.” He takes another drink and it’s too big of a swallow. He has to fight to keep himself from choking. He waits a minute until he’s sure he can talk without coughing. “You can’t tell her though,” he whispers conspiratorially.  
Derek raised his eyebrows and he looks a little amused. “Tell who?”  
“My mom. She’d get worried,” Stiles replies, still whispering. Which he realizes is stupid, because if the dead can hear you at all then they can probably still hear you no matter how quiet you talk.  
Derek looks a little confused. “I thought you lived with just your dad.”  
“I do,” Stiles confirms, taking another large swallow of whiskey and now there are only a few drinks left. He studies the bottle carefully. “Mom died eight years ago. Eight years ago today. Hence the anniversary celebration.” Stiles continues to stare at the bottle and Derek is quiet, but Stiles can feel his eyes on him. He’s not sure if Derek wants him to continue or shut up, but the words are coming out now and he can’t stop them. “I brought her flowers today, but when I talked to her it didn’t feel like she was listening this time so I went home. Dad doesn’t like this day either so he always works doubles and I can’t be pissed at him for leaving me alone because he misses her just as much as me and he deserves to grieve on his own if he wants to but I was still alone and the house was quiet and Scott always hangs out with me today and plays video games but this time he forgot and I shouldn’t be mad because I know he’s busy and he’s got a lot going on, and Allison needed him but I needed him today too and how could he forget?!” Stiles’ voice is getting louder and he can’t make himself look at Derek. He’s embarrassed that he’s starting to cry but the tears are mixing with the rain so it’s not obvious and even if his voice is cracking a little at least he’s not sobbing.  
He wants to stop talking, but now that he’s started the words continue to spill out. “And it was just too quiet in the house and I couldn’t feel her there and I opened her closet where all her clothes still are and I couldn’t smell her perfume and maybe I haven’t really been able to smell it in years, maybe I just wanted to smell it so I pretended it’s there, but now I can’t smell it at all. And I couldn’t remember the way she sounded when she laughed and all I could picture when I thought of her was how she was at the end when she was so sick and confused and said things that didn’t make sense and she didn’t know me! And I don’t want to remember her like that, I want to remember her teaching me how to cook and helping with my homework and how she’d sing Beatles songs even though she didn’t know half the words and how her voice always sounded beautiful to me even though it probably wasn’t really that good and how she would hold me at night when I would get so tired but couldn’t sleep because of my stupid ADD, and she was the only person in the world who understood how my weird-ass brain works...”  
He’s been speaking so fast that it takes him a second to catch his breath and part of his brain lets him know that he should shut up, but his mouth carries on talking, heedless of the advice. “Have you ever watched someone slowly lose their mind? It’s awful. Some days she didn’t recognize me and some days she would see things that weren’t there and some days she would just yell and scream and say awful things, but some days she knew what was happening and she would promise that she would fight and not give up but then she died anyway because you can’t fight Frontotemporal Dementia no matter how strong you are and she was strong.  
“And I can’t be mad at her for dying or for the horrible things she sometimes said at the end because she was losing her mind and she couldn’t help it and I can’t be mad at her doctors because it’s not their fault she had something that has no cure and I can’t be mad at my dad for drinking after she died or for leaving me alone because he’s still grieving too and I know he’s always done the best he can and it’s not his fault I was so freaking hard to take care of when I was little and maybe I still am now and I just want to be pissed at someone but there’s no one to get mad at but myself because even though it’s not my fault she’s dead and it’s not my fault that my dad drank himself into oblivion every day for years but it still feels like it’s my fault cause of how difficult I was even though I couldn’t help it and it makes me want to scream and I want her back because she would know what to say to make everything better and I’m sorry I’m stupid and I don’t know why I’m saying all this to you ‘cause I know you lost your whole family and I only lost my mom, but I can’t help it, I just miss her.” Stiles’ eyes burn and his throat hurts and his tears are streaming down his face, mixing with the rain. It takes everything he has to not to collapse and sob his heart out on the forest floor. He can’t make himself look at Derek because he’s afraid Derek is going to be disgusted with the display of emotion or pissed.  
Derek takes almost a minute before he speaks and when he does he isn’t disgusted or pissed, or even pitying which would probably have been worse. “You’re allowed to miss her.” And his voice is calm and says nothing but the simple truth.  
Stiles can’t respond because this is the first time in eight years that someone has said exactly the right thing. Derek doesn’t offer sympathy or say he’s sorry for Stiles’ loss. He doesn’t spout one of the trademark comforting phrases that always piss Stiles off and sound so incredibly fake, like: “She’s in a better place,” or “At least she’s not suffering anymore.” Because he’s probably heard those phrases 100 times himself and Stiles is willing to bet that those phrases make Derek as mad as they make Stiles. He doesn’t tell Stiles it’s not his fault, which always frustrates him because he obviously knows it’s not his fault but he can’t exactly stop himself from feeling guilty. He doesn’t try to tell Stiles how he should be coping and he doesn’t tell him what he should be doing to make it all better because Derek knows as well as Stiles does that things don’t always get better. He doesn’t say that it will get easier because he knows time doesn’t really heal all wounds and this is a loss that will always be painful, even if some days it’s easier to deal with than others. He just says something true and allows Stiles to feel his grief which Stiles is pretty sure not a single doctor, therapist, teacher, or friend has ever done.  
He still doesn’t look up when Derek reaches over and takes the bottle out of his hand but he sees out of the corner of his eye that Derek raises the bottle in a copy of the toast Stiles had done earlier. “To your mom,” he says, and again, it’s the perfect thing to say. Derek lowers the bottle and finishes it off. It’s too much to really drink in one shot, but Derek does it in a few swallows. Stiles thinks that is probably Derek’s subtle way of keeping Stiles from drinking any more, which is probably a good call because despite the fact that he was only pleasantly drunk ten minutes ago he now feels wasted as well as sick and dizzy, even though he’s sitting down.  
Derek waits another couple minute until Stiles has his tears under control then stands. “It’s time for you to get home.” And he’s right. The sky is almost dark and he’s finally starting to feel cold from the rain. But Stiles doesn’t get up because he feels like shit and his dad won’t be home until dawn and he doesn’t want to go back to him empty house.  
“I don’t think I can drive right now,” Stiles finally mumbles miserably.  
“I know you can’t. Give me your keys, I’m driving you.” It’s not an offer or a request, but a simple order. Stiles wants to argue but decides against it. He just hands over his keys and stands to follow Derek.  
Several times while walking through the woods Stiles stumbles and almost falls but Derek’s hand reaches out each time and keeps him upright, then lets go once he is somewhat steady again. Stiles appreciates that Derek doesn’t let him fall but also doesn’t just grab him and sling Stiles’ arm over his shoulder so he can drag him out of the woods, even though that would probably be quicker. This was he can keep at least a modicum of his dignity intact.  
Once Stiles is in the Jeep Derek starts the engine and cranks the heat, which Stiles realizes is for his benefit only since it’s nowhere near cold enough for the werewolf to be chilly. He even prompts Stiles to put on his seatbelt.  
Stiles closes his eyes while Derek drives him home since looking out the window is making him nauseous. He must have dozed off because it seems like they’ve only just started driving when they pull into the driveway. The sudden silence of the Jeep’s engine being killed prompts him to open his eyes, and before he has even unbuckled his seatbelt Derek is out and opening his door for him. He doesn’t try to help Stiles out but it’s good that he’s there because Stiles manages to get his legs tangled up and only Derek’s arms keep him from doing a faceplant on the asphalt. The movement causes his stomach to lurch and he tries to swallow down the urge to vomit but halfway to the front door he has to change directions to the bushes where he promptly loses the contents of his stomach.  
There’s nothing for him to throw up but alcohol and stomach acid and it burns and suddenly he’s crying again because he misses how his mom used to take care of him when he was sick. He has nothing left to throw up but he keeps dry heaving and loses the ability to stand. Once again Derek’s arms are the only thing holding him up and he hears Derek’s calm voice reminding him to breathe. And oh yeah, he did forget to breathe and he gasps air into his aching lungs and he’s starting to hyperventilate and Derek doesn’t tell him to calm down, just orders him to breathe slower in a tone that is somehow both commanding and soothing and Stiles does because Derek sounds so calm and sure of himself. His breathing evens out and he thinks Derek may have just talked him out of a panic attack before it even started and he wants to ask how but he just files it away for later because now Derek is helping him to the door and it’s okay even if it’s not dignified because he knows he’s at his limit and wouldn’t have made it on his own.  
Derek gets him up the stairs and into his room and then dry clothes are being shoved into his arms and he is told to get changed. Derek leaves his room and Stiles swallows a sob because now he’s alone until his dad gets home in the morning and he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. But he follows Derek’s instructions because he’s cold and shucks off his dripping clothes. He manages to get on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt but skips the pajama pants because that just seems like too much work. He leaves his wet clothes on the floor though he knows he shouldn’t and flops onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers even though he’s cold as hell. He’s exhausted and can hardly move but sleep feels just out of his reach and he realizes that there are still tears trickling down his face which is surprising because it’s hard to believe that he even has any tears left.  
But then he hears someone come in his room and he looks up. Derek is back, or had never really left. “Sit up,” he instructs and Stiles complies because why not?  
Derek puts a glass in his hand “Drink all of it. But not too fast.”  
Stiles assumes it will be water but when he drinks it he realizes it’s Alka-Seltzer. Stiles wonders how someone who isn’t capable of getting drunk or having a hangover seems to know exactly what to do for someone who can, but also files that under To ask about later.  
Derek stands in front of him, watching him drink. Stiles feels it should be unsettling to be watched so intently but it’s just how Derek is and he thinks he’s getting used to that. Derek is just there and taking care of him and it feels nice.  
Stiles thinks how odd it is to see this nurturing side of Derek but as soon as the thought crosses his mind he realizes that it’s really not odd at all, because he’s starting to see that that’s who Derek really is hidden under all the threats, gruffness and ill-temper. Derek is someone who has risked his life to save others more times than Stiles can count. And he’s one of the people Derek had risked his life to save. Stiles is a little ashamed of himself that he has painted this picture of Derek as a power-hungry alpha, but when he chose his pack he didn’t pick those who were already powerful and could probably have been stronger and better fighters than Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. He picked those who needed saving.  
Maybe he didn’t agree with all of Derek’s choices, but he has to allow that Derek always made decisions with good intentions.  
“Finish it,” Derek nods to the mostly empty glass Stiles has stopped drinking from, and Stiles complies, though he might be using the glass to mask the smile he can’t stop from creeping across his face. “When’s the Sherriff getting home?”  
Stiles doesn’t try to hide his amusement, because he thinks Derek is worried about getting caught be the Sherriff, even though he’s been cleared of the murder charges. “Not till morning. You’re safe for now.”  
He finishes the glass and Derek tells him to stand. Stiles groans because he just wants to lie down but Derek pulls him up, albeit not as roughly as he could have. Then Derek pulls back the covers and instructs Stiles to lie down. When he does Derek covers him up. Stiles mumbles a “Thank you,” and Derek just nods.  
Before Derek can turn and leave Stiles grabs his arm and holds it. “Seriously. Thank you. You knew all the right things to say or not say. How did you know?” Derek doesn’t answer but like is most often the case Stiles puts it together on his own, and when he figures it out it’s so damn obvious he can’t believe he didn’t see it before. Derek is comforting because he’s not trying to be. He’s just steady and calm and sure of himself and offers the truth with no pity of judgment attached and no bullshit or double-speak to sort through. And that’s rare and kind of a relief.  
Stiles realizes that he’s still holding on to Derek’s arm. “You took care of me, even though you didn’t have to. I’m not pack.” He doesn’t ask why but hopes Derek will answer anyway. Because he’s starting to unravel the mystery that is Derek Hale, but there is still a lot more to know.  
Derek watches him for a moment. “Yes, you are,” is all he says. And he sounds a little exasperated but there’s also something suspiciously close to fondness in his voice.  
Stiles thinks he would be more astounded at that if he weren’t so drunk and tired, but all he can manage is a somewhat dopey smile. Derek pulls away and goes to turns off the light and even goes so far as to pick up the wet clothes Stiles had left on the floor and deposit them in the laundry basket. Then he sits himself down in the chair in the corner of Stiles room. Stiles asks him what he’s doing. Though he is pretty sure his voice is becoming more slurred and nearly incomprehensible Derek still understands.  
“Making sure you don’t choke in your sleep if you throw up again. Go to sleep.”  
Stiles knows he’s grinning like an idiot but he can’t help it. Derek may not have hated him before today, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t like him too much. That seems to have changed at some point and Stiles wonders why, but then he figures that while he has been piecing things together about Derek tonight, Derek was probably doing the same with him, though Derek has probably had an easier time of it courtesy of Stiles’ unintentional soul spilling. And he thinks that maybe all they ever needed was to understand each other a little better, because maybe they aren’t quite as different as they seem. Stiles wonders if this means they have a chance at being friends, which is a thought that would have alarmed him only a few days ago, but now he thinks he might like the idea.  
Knowing that he’s not alone in the house helps him relax and within seconds he’s almost asleep, but he makes eye contact with Derek one more time. “Not such a Sourwolf after all,” he mumbles as his eyes close.  
And right before he drifts off he hears Derek actually laugh. Wonders never cease.  
The end


End file.
